Mistletoe
by Purple Ghost Sausage
Summary: Would you rather find yourself under the mistletoe with a Weeping Angel or one of the Silence? Well, who wants to kiss a rock?  One-shot


**Mistletoe**

_Summary: Would you rather find yourself under the mistletoe with a Weeping Angel or one of the Silence? Well, who wants to kiss a rock? {One-shot}_

Jonah dropped the last box of Christmas decorations in the center of the living room floor. He brushed his chestnut curls out of his eyes and exhaled, relieved of the box's weight. Now that he was home from college for winter break, his parents had, of course, asked him to help put up the decorations. Never mind that his exams weren't over until about a week before Christmas; they had decided to wait for him to put up the tree, anyway. Now they were out choosing the tree and running some other errands while their son was left to get everything ready for the decorating extravaganza that would happen once they returned.

At least they hadn't left everything until the last minute. Looking around, he could see that they had put up a lot of the decorations already, without him. Tiny white lights sparkled through the window in the early dusk where their wires had been wrapped around the pillars on their front porch. Inside where he was standing, besides the boxes full of ornaments that cluttered the living room's floor space, their nativity scene had been set up near the fireplace. Garlands of red and green tinsel glittered around the windows through which the lights were shining. And someone, probably his romantically-minded mother, had hung some mistletoe on the doorjamb between the living room and the foyer.

He had to double take, looking at that doorway. Standing just outside it in the other room was a huge stone statue of an angel, life-size, with her hands over her face. She was not an unfamiliar sight; Jonah had long passed by this statue in the foyer. His mom had picked her up at some garage sale or flea market and kept meaning to put her in the garden out back, as soon as she got around to planting a garden in the first place. Until then, the statue had been placed in a corner of the foyer, out of the way.

She was not so out of the way now, standing in the doorway and taking up a third of it. He blinked at the gray stone angel. Yep, it was definitely closer, close to the edge of the door frame and right under that mistletoe.

Only, now…now the angel was not covering her eyes. It must not be the same statue, then. Although it did seem to have the same familiar sweep of gown…

And there she was, standing under the mistletoe. Jonah let out a low laugh under his breath. It must be a prank set up by his dad. Kiss the statue, I dare you, it said.

Well…there was something compelling about the idea. And it was more fun when Jonah played along with his dad's pranks. He stepped into the doorway with the statue.

He looked into the angel's stone eyes and leaned closer and closer to her carved lips. His vision was full of her gray color as he pressed his warm, living lips to her cold stone ones for a moment.

There. He'd done it. It was a bit anticlimactic, really. Maybe it would have been more fun with his dad there, egging him on. At least he'd get the prankster's gambit on that one when he cut off the older man's cajoling with the fact that he'd already completed that task.

Jonah turned back to the boxes, putting the prank out of his mind. He started digging around for the colored lights that would be wrapped around the tree. No doubt they would need to be untangled.

Behind him, there was a rustling noise, like huge wings shifting very fast.

He turned. There was no bird, nothing that could have made the sound. Just the angel statue, still standing in the doorway beneath the festive bough. Her posture was a bit different now, though. Her wings were spread a bit wider, arms held more open, turned more towards where Jonah was standing. Despite the lack of iris or pupil to indicate the direction of her gaze, she seemed to be looking at the mistletoe above her. And her expression had changed, too. She seemed to be saying to him, "Kiss me, I'm waiting. For real, this time."

Again, Jonah felt himself drawn towards the statue. Acquiescing to her command now, he kissed her like she was a girl instead of as if she were a carved stone he was kissing on a dare.

His face drifted towards her slower this time. As his mouth neared hers, lips parting, his eyelids fell closed.

This time his lips met soft, living flesh rather than granite. He almost jerked back in surprise, but before he knew it, warm female arms were wrapped around him, holding him close.

He was pressed against the woman's soft body, and it was not at all disagreeable. Her mouth was moving against his, kissing him back, and he made the kiss deeper in response. He heard the rustle of wings again as he slid his own arms behind her back, and felt the light brush of soft feathers against his skin as her wings, real now instead of rock, settled back over him.

He lost track of himself somewhat then, lost in the kiss. Gentle hands stroked his neck, tangled in his hair. Perhaps at one point a hand had even wandered down to squeeze his butt. Maybe he even reciprocated in kind. It was a long, wonderful kiss. He couldn't have opened his eyes if he'd wanted to, lost in the sensations.

Finally, too soon, it ended. Jonah was left breathless. He leaned slightly back against the door frame, eyes still closed.

"Merry Christmas," a girl's voice seemed to say. The words were soft, breathless. A moment later, he couldn't be sure he hadn't simply imagined them.

Jonah opened his eyes. The angel in the doorway had vanished; he was alone under the mistletoe. He glanced at the corner of the foyer where the weeping angel had been standing for years, expecting to see her there as always. She was nowhere to be seen. Maybe his mom had finally gotten around to planting a garden and putting the statue in the yard…but somehow, Jonah doubted it.

Strange, very strange. There was no way to explain it.

So Jonah did the only thing he could—he put that memory in the back of his mind and went back to his boxes, ready to untangle some Christmas lights.

Later in the week, on Christmas Eve, Jonah was browsing videos online. Inclined to get into the holiday spirit, he clicked one entitled "A Ghost Story for Christmas."

Not quite thirty seconds into the clip, the narration was resonating with him. A statue that seems to move, a weeping angel like his mother had…he kept watching.

It was impossible, of course. Statues that can steal your life by sending you into the past, statues that aren't really statues at all, or not all the time. Statues are just statues, always.

But then, what had that been…that kiss?

But…why? If this statue that wasn't a statue sent you into the past, stole your life force, why was he still here?

"Merry Christmas."

He remembered the half-heard words. Maybe, just this once, the Lonely Assassin hadn't wanted his life. Maybe she just wanted to interact with someone in one of her moments of motion, during the brief time she did not have to be a statue. Wanted that moment of closeness. That one kiss.

And what a kiss it had been.

Merry Christmas, indeed.


End file.
